


Ghosts in Spooky Week

by Myfriendgeorge



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Character Death, Dan is grieving, Death, One Shot, Pain, Sadness, Short, phil is dead, short and not sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12260115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myfriendgeorge/pseuds/Myfriendgeorge
Summary: A short one shot, basically drabble about how Dan feels and deals with himself and gets on with his life after his partner Phil dies.also can be seen as a sequel to Boncas another Phan one shot of mine!





	Ghosts in Spooky Week

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS AWFUL AND CRINGE AND I WROTE IT LIKE TWO YEARS AGO WHEN I WAS EMO DON'T JUDGE ME PLEASE

Nothing was the same after Phil passed, I moved out of our apartment and down scaled dramatically, one bed and an open diner living area with a very small bathroom. That's all I really needed. I didn't feel like moving in with someone else but I also couldn't afford the rent. Besides there were too many memories in the phlat.   
Phil's death was sudden and unexpected, it was so hard for me and everyone else. His family was distraught, he was close to them, especially his brother. After all he did help us out massively with the tour and all our merch stalls. His mum was beside herself, she stayed in the flat with me for the first week to make sure that I was okay and to just keep me company, Mrs. Lester loved me like I was her own son and I'm so thankful and grateful for that. She was one of the only people who really understood the relationship between Phil and I.   
The worst part about losing Phil was not the fact that my cereal was exactly as I left it, or the fact that there where never any cupboards left open for me to close. The worst part was everyone else, everyone who tried to help; everyone else who tried to write me letters and send me messages telling me how sorry they were for my loss; everyone who told me that I could come to them if I needed help. I just wanted to deal with this on my own, with Phil. When I'd ever had a problem in life I'd sorted it with Phil. Phil was so much more than a friend, when Phil was by myself he made me feel like I could accomplish anything. I mean just look at my YouTube, that's all thanks to Phil Lester himself.   
It had been a few months since Phil's funeral, to which I attended in a pink shirt and my glitter ball suit jacket that I worse to the Boncas awards. To me that represented Phil, he was the light of my life and the sparkles not only represent Tatinof and everything that we'd achieved together but it was also the exact jacket that I wore when I felt most proud of my best friend. Together we had won three awards that night, Phil winning the majority invited me up on the stage both times. Later when questioning his motives Phil replied with "I wanted to show the world how grateful of you I am, without you Dan I... I don't know where I'd be or what I'd be doing or who I would be."   
I sat cross legged on my bedroom floor, there wasn't much floor, my new room was tiny. I stared at the empty shell of a person before me in the mirror. Their eyes were drowning in the tears that threatened to fall, bags hung dark and low underneath and their cheeks were so thin. The skeleton before me looked dead, but that wasn't the scary part. What frightened me the most was the fact that the curly mess of chocolate hair that rested on their head felt so familiar. Everything about this image seemed familiar, except that it was a stranger in the mirror. I didn't recognise myself these days. If I was to meet this stranger in the streets I'd hand him my sandwich and take him to a costa and let him sit and sip whilst using me as his therapist, I'd help him as much as I could because after all I learned from the greatest. Countless times Phil had assisted me through a crisis, existential or not Phil was always there for me with a beaming smile stuck to his face, he was a literal ray of sunshine.   
Unfortunately I couldn't help this man, every time I reached out to help him I was stopped by a pain of glass between us. He was unreachable. I have tried countless times, palming the mirror to help this poor soul. It never works, the only thing I achieved by doing this was frustration. I got so frustrated and angry at myself. "WHY" I'd scream. "WHY CAN'T I REACH YOU?!" I'd hit my fists against the glass and cry. My tears would blur my vision until I wasn't even sure who or what I was looking at anymore. Last time this happened I glanced up to the mirror where I could just about make out the curly haired man staring back at me, completely helpless. His face was pleading, desperate for some kind of help. I just couldn't reach him. But then I saw it. A glimmer of hope flashed through his face as he saw it too. Behind him was a man, I scanned his face. It was warm and welcoming, he had come to help the curly haired crying man on the floor, I just knew it. I sighed and pressed my palm to the mirror as I watched. The familiar man stepped closer to the mess on the floor until he was within reaching distance. I studied his features, eyes that you could swim in, a fringe so black yet so warm and homelike, I blinked in disbelief. "No," I muttered to myself. This couldn't be could it? I glanced behind me in my empty bedroom to where the reflection should have been but wasn't. "No!" I said with a bit more force this time. What was happening to me? I'd been fine for weeks. I searched in the mirror but found nothing. Phil had gone and he'd taken the soppy brown haired man with him. All I saw was my own reflection. "No... No no no" I chanted as if that would bring him back. "NO!" I screamed. And that was when the tears stared to fall. "NO NO NO...." I banged my fists against the mirror, pain shooting up my arms. Pain, this was the first thing I'd felt in a long time. "Come back," I sobbed. The frustration and upset built up within me and I lashed out and hit the mirror one last time.   
The sound of shattering glass deafened me as I looked around to the fine mirror dust that littered the floor around me. Oh Jesus what had I done. Our wardrobe, we'd built it together. Just like the life that they had built together, it had crumbled so easily.   
I couldn't stop the tears escaping my eyes, or the sobs escaping my mouth.   
"Just," I hiccuped.   
"Just come back..." I stared up to the ceiling.   
"Just come home Phil,"


End file.
